


Must Run Its Course

by Alonza



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Love Letters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-07 11:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12231993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alonza/pseuds/Alonza
Summary: Trevelyan was a templar's name, not a mage's, and she had no interest in martyring what little value it had left for a cause she did not believe in. And yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of drabbles inspired entirely by the wonderful Dragon Age community on Reddit. Posting this only so that I have something cohesive to refer back to for future drabbles, so that I don't have to keep digging through my past comments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen, do you remember when I met you? You were, I think, no more impressed with me than I was with you. I was the ruddy-faced mage who'd just 'killed' the Divine, and you were just another Templar who looked at me and saw 'magic' instead of 'mage.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: Your character is writing a letter to their LI- It's about anything, a confession, a breakup, or a just a simple status update or nothing in particular.

_A letter in a flowing script, addressed from_   **Wynlorye Trevelyan**   _to Cullen Rutherford, sealed in wax_

Cullen -

    Do you think this is the hundredth letter I've written you, or the thousandth? Some days I feel as if all I ever do is write letters to you, and Josephine, and Leliana, but I've never written one like this. I know we do not talk about who I am, and who you are, and what it means to be the Inquisitor and the Commander, but it's something that I have been thinking a lot about since the Temple of Mythal. Soon we will face Corypheus, and if we live- if I live- we must face the fact I have made sacrifices to get here whose consequences we do not understand. I had thought, maybe, this would be easier for you to read than hear, as I know- well. Leliana, if you could please stop reading here - I would appreciate what follows to be between the Commander and I.

    Cullen, do you remember when I met you? You were, I think, no more impressed with me than I was with you. I was the ruddy-faced mage who'd just 'killed' the Divine, and you were just another Templar who looked at me and saw 'magic' instead of 'mage.' When we first got involved, you said that you'd wanted me for a while, but I never thought to ask how long, or what made you change your mind about me. It was a question I was afraid to ask, because I knew you'd ask me when I first came to like you and it's... awkward.

    Sometimes I think you don't really understand what it is to be a mage. For me, and the others. How long did you serve at the Circle in Fereldan? You must be quite numb to them. Did you ever think to consider that the people you watched over had all been taken in as children? I was 14. I suppose, maybe, you were about that when you began training to be a Templar, but it was different for you. Templars don't take vows, you told me. (Remember when I asked you that after knowing you less than a week? Maker,  _why_  do you like me?) What I'm trying to get at here is that as children, we spend our lives playing make-believe with dolls and toy soldiers, only for the Circle to strip those childhood dreams away. Ostwick was quite strict about their rules.

    When you met me, I was less than a month out of the Circle, and less than a day out of the Fade. The sky had opened up and spewed demons, and it seemed likely that I would be killed either by them, or the Chantry for zealotry, or the Templars still roaming the fields looking for mages. Cullen, I flirted with  _everybody._  I flirted with Dorian. I flirted with Blackwall. Cullen, I even tried flirting with Solas, but he made a comment about my "indomitable focus" and I never tried again. When I flirted with you, it was to tease you. You were a Templar, and I wanted to make you uncomfortable. I wanted to push your buttons and see what you'd do, because I know if I, or another mage, had said the same things to you when I was in captivity at your Circle, you'd have snapped at me.

    But instead you  _blushed._  You got all soft-voiced.

    And when Corypheus descended upon Haven and you looked at me and told me the only way to save everyone was for me to die, it hurt. Not because I would have to sacrifice myself - I'd made up my mind to do that before you'd said anything - but because  _you_  were saying it. And because you hesitated.

    You must not have loved me then, but I want you to know that I loved you. I think it's something you need to hear, because I know how you let things fester and eat away at you. We must speak very plainly and admit that someday, this fight will most likely kill me, whether it be by the hands of Corypheus, the Well of Sorrows, or the rift itself. And I know you will find some way to blame yourself, as if being the Commander of my army somehow makes you responsible for saving me as I save everyone else (even, and especially, you). And I know me telling you now that you are not responsible will not lessen your self-hatred, so let me tell you this instead: at Haven, you sent me to my death and I loved you anyway. If you command the army at my back as I go to my death once more, I will love you through it again.

    Leliana, see after him if I don't make it.

        ~ W


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevelyan was a templar's name, not a mage's, and she had no interest in martyring what little value it had left for a cause she did not believe in. And yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: Hypocrisy! Does your OC have a trait/belief/habit/principle that completely contradicts everything else they usually stand for? Are they aware of this contradiction?

When they'd taken Wynlorye to the Circle, she'd been older than most at 14. Old enough to remember what it was like to be outside. Old enough to want that back. There was an escape attempt her first night there - not her, but another mage, and she remembered the vacant look in his Tranquil eyes the next morning. It hadn't scared her, not really, because even then, at 14, she'd known better than just to run. Freedom was politics, as everything was, and she knew she'd have to bide her time, accrue skills, stock resources, and choose the right moment.

The falling of the Circles had not been part of her master plan, but it was an opportunity she knew to take. As the others fought, Wynlorye quietly took the potions and books she'd stored away since 14 and slipped out the second window above the kitchen. Rebellion did not interest her; the plight of mages was secondary to her own liberation. But the mages found her four days later, following the phylactery she thought they would destroy. "We will gladly give it you," they said, and put it in her hands as she stood, bemused and waiting. "We ask nothing for it. But we hope you will join your friends in coming to the Conclave. If we are truly to have peace over bloodshed, your name may yet win us some favor."

She didn't believe it would. Trevelyan was a templar's name, not a mage's, and she had no interest in martyring what little value it had left for a cause she did not believe in. And yet. And yet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't just wear the most protective bits you find on corpses, Dorian told her once. It's terribly affronting on the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: What is your character's personal sense of style like? Are they happy with their clothing/armor choices, or do you picture them in something else? How would they approach dressing for home/casual get-togethers/fancy social engagements?

Trevelyan had missed her clothes. When she first was placed in the Circle and her finery was taken to be replaced with plain robes, she'd been crushed. She felt it keenly for a long, long time. When she chanced to look down, or saw her sleeves from the corner of her eye, it was a reminder that she was no longer a Trevelyan now. She was a Circle mage.

One might have expected Wynlorye to jump at the chance for a change of clothes when circle mage gave way to Herald, then Inquisitor, but this was not the case. People came to Skyhold seeking Inquisitor Trevelyan; instead they were greeted with a woman in blood-stained robes and helms she'd scavenged from a hundred dead rebels across Thedas.

 _You can't just wear the most protective bits you find on corpses,_  Dorian told her once.  _It's terribly affronting on the eyes._  She'd frozen, caught out, and feigned intense interest in a book on Divine Galatea just past his head.  _Not all of us have the face for that mustache,_  she'd answered breezily. But she'd worn the Tevinter scarf when it'd appeared in her wardrobe the next day. And the undershirt the fortnight after. And the trousers the day after that.

It was Vivienne, however, who ushered her to sit down in an overstuffed, high-back chair one morning, a chest at her feet.  _I hear you'll be traveling in Orlais soon,_  she'd said, and Wynlorye's heart had sunk. What bizarre accouterments was she to be subjected to now? But when she opened the chest, the many choices inside were... muted. Subtle. Familiar?  _I took the pains of writing the merchants of Ostwick to see what was in style,_  Vivienne explained.  _It's a bit behind the Orlesian fashions, of course, but I daresay these will suit you better than whatever nonsense that Tevinter has you in._

Royal purple was a bit ridiculous for battle robes, but if anyone noticed, they didn't comment (except for the Free Marchers, who all remarked that the Inquisitor looked very well). But she kept the Tevinter trousers, and shared many an unfunny joke with Bull about being the only woman to ever get into Dorian's... well. You know how it ends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing awkward or antisocial about her, they angrily write the author, and if she walked a bit funny, then... so what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: Varric has finally written that book about your character. Which of their characteristics would he exaggerate/focus on for their portrayal? i.e.: What does the oversimplified caricature of your character look like?

When Varric Tethras' retelling of the Inquisitor's life is finally released seven months after the fall of the Breach, there is a minor uproar among those who supported her. The woman in the novel, they say, is  _not_  the Inquisitor. The woman in the novel is a disservice to the Inquisitor, who was beautiful, powerful, self-assured, poised.

In contrast, the woman in the book is described as dowdy, her face an oval, her shoulders hunched, her gate awkward and boxy, like a man's. Those who remember the Inquisitor's stirring speeches protest the portrayal of their beloved leader as a quiet woman, who talked only when the situation demanded it, who spent days wandering wildernesses without a word uttered to her travelling companions. There was nothing awkward or antisocial about her, they angrily write the author, and if she walked a bit funny, then... so what?

Wynlorye Trevelyan refuses to publicly comment on the portrayal, but those who are lucky enough to receive an invitation to her private quarters report that there's a copy stood on its spine on her desk, shielding the 'life-like' bust the Orlesian Empress had gifted from view. They also report that a mustache has been scribbled onto the silhouette on the cover, though surely,  _surely_  the Inquisitor hasn't noticed that yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So on the basis of my extraordinarily bad luck, you think that I'm Andraste's Herald?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: What spurs your character on and inspires them to fight? What would cause them to lose hope and give up? In other words, what are their motivators and de-motivators?

"Look at all the shit that's happened to you," Varric tells her. "You escaped from the explosion that leveled a mountain top and fell out of the Fade, you traveled through time, faced down one of the ancient Magisters who started the Blights, had a mountain fall on you and lived... One of those things would be impossible! All of them, together? That's a miracle."

Wynlorye shifts her weight from one foot to the other, but arches an eyebrow so he cannot see her squirm. "So on the basis of my extraordinarily bad luck, you think that I'm Andraste's Herald?"

"If you know the story of Andraste, you know that bad luck is sort of her thing." And the thing is, Varric  _knows_  she knows that story. Growing up a Trevelyan, it was impossible not to. But she'd stopped believing in Andraste right around the time her own brother had led her in shackles to the Circle. What Varric says... she does not want to admit that she has been thinking it too. So they play Wicked Grace instead, the Dwarven surfacer, and the agnostic mage, and do not talk about what Corypheus claimed to have seen. There are only so many religious crises they can have in a year; some things are best not to dwell on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not a demon, Inquisitor Trevelyan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: Write from the perspective of your least favorit companion- Their opinion of the protag, what's going on at the time and the situation they will have to face.

_Why did I bring him along? Why did I bring him?_  She is so noisy when she tries to be quiet. Cassandra tells me not to stare. Flame sparks from fingers, hiding behind backs,  _I can't help it, I-_

 _I can't help it, mother, I tried to hide it. She said it was okay but they took me anyway. We were different from the common folk, so why did they-_  Kid, that's enough. Not angry, but uncomfortable. Pity. For who? Not me.

I never go on missions. You make everyone uneasy, kid, he explained, and she's no different than everyone. But she is. She finds me, sometimes, and she asks about me. But when I tell her, she hurts. Uneasy. Maybe. But more. I am in Crestwood, here. Why?  _Why did I bring him?_

"I'm not a demon, Inquisitor Trevelyan." Weariness. So, so tired.

" _I know, Cole._ "

"So why am I here?" She understands.

" _Because you want to be._ "

It is enough.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a cold, rainy Wednesday and they've just returned from the Fallow Mire - without the hostages. There is no antidote to this feeling, and there wouldn't be until she got those men and women free, but she does at least know a temporary balm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: Every relationship has a "price of admission" -- those things about your partner that you don't necessarily like, but that you accept in exchange for everything that's good about them. What's the "price of admission" for your character's love interest (and/or best friend)? i.e., What off-putting or negative qualities does your character bring to a close relationship?

It's a cold, rainy Wednesday and they've just returned from the Fallow Mire - without the hostages. Reports of undead bodies rising from the swamps had turned out to be more than mere fiction, and Wynlorye knew when she was in over her head, though it had taken watching Bull collapse face first into bog water to realize that. And so here she was, back at Skyhold, guilt sitting high in her throat and water dripping from her fingers. There was no antidote to this feeling, and there wouldn't be until she got those men and women free, but she did at least know a temporary balm. She pulled her cloak tight round her as she crossed the bridge to the wall office, shouldering open the heavy oak door.

But all that greeted her on the other side was a scout, standing wide-eyed and horrified at her appearance. She looked round, glancing up the ladder, but the man she'd been looking for was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Commander Cullen?"

The scout swayed a little, clearly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor. He's out training at the moment."

"I saw no troops in the courtyard," she replied, arms folding across her chest unconsciously.

"Sorry, ma'am, that is to say he's training alone at the moment."

She sighed. Of course he was. "Was he not informed that my party was nearing Skyhold?"

"I- I believe he was? But you know how the Commander is about his physical fitness regimen-"

"-physical fitness regimen," she joined the scout in saying, "Yes, I know." She sighed once more, looking heavenward. It would figure that she, the mage who had avoided physical activity as much as possible prior to the Circle's collapse, and who refused to cut or pin up her hair, would end up with a templar whose dedication to his coif was second only to maintaining his toned physique. She wondered, briefly, if she could persuade him to tone it down if she told him she'd like him even as a long-haired wastrel. But considering his reaction to any comments on his hair or body was to sputter indignantly...

"Well. Tell the Commander, when he's done lifting sacks of flour or whatever it is, there's one very cold mage waiting for him in the tower."

"I- I can't-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I mean that I am literally very cold! Look at me, I'm soaking- Oh Maker, I didn't mean- Just forget it. Tell him to find me, and that's he an arse."

And with that, she stepped back out into the cold, no less miserable than before, but a good sight more annoyed... and ever so slightly embarrassed.


End file.
